


Leaving the Nest

by carolion



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, Gen Fic, Growing Up, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're kicking me out?" David asks, with a high pitched thread of desperation in his voice. "Mama-!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving the Nest

“ _What?_ ” David sits frozen in his seat across the kitchen table from his mother, who is smiling gently at him with her ‘Oh David’ expression on. He winces a little because he should have sensed something was up from the moment she said ‘David why don’t you sit down with me?’

“Honey,” she says kindly, reaching across the table to squeeze his limp hand encouragingly (or rather, he’s sure she _thinks_ it’s encouraging – he can’t really process it right now). “It’s time. You are twenty years old, you have a career-“

“You’re kicking me out?” David asks, with a high pitched thread of desperation in his voice. “Mama-!”

“No, David,” she says firmly, ignoring him fastidiously. “You fly back and forth from here to Los Angelos at least three times a month and most of your friends live there now, and your work is based there. There’s nothing here for you.”

“ _You’re_ here. My family is here! That’s the most important thing in my life,” he protests indignantly, and he sees her face soften a little bit, and she nods, accepting his point.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be telling you what to do or where to live, but you can’t live _here_ Davey, you’re too old to be staying with your mama.”

“But Claudia-“

“-Is living at college. We’ll keep your room the same honey, and you’re welcome to visit any time, but you _cannot_ live here any longer, okay? It’s a part of growing up sweetie, and you’re more than ready.” She pats his hand and draws back, straightening up in her chair. She smiles at him - _how could she?_ \- and laughs a little at the woe-be-gone expression on his face. “It won’t be so bad David,” she insists, and then stands up, cradling her cup of herbal tea in both hands, “you might even _like_ the independence.”

She leaves the kitchen in a sweep of her skirts, abandoning David to his scrambling, panicked thoughts.

It’s annoying that he has to fly back to LA that weekend, actually, because it kind of proves her point. She visits his room as he’s packing and knocks on the doorframe to let him know she’s there. He smiles at her tightly and returns to folding a t-shirt to put into his suitcase.

“Obviously you can stay here until you find a place you like,” his mother soothes, touching his back with her gentle hand, and he sighs and closes his eyes, pausing his actions for moment. “You can call some of friends to help you look! I’m sure they won’t mind,” she says cheerfully, and picks a pair of his underwear and folds it neatly for him. He groans and thinks maybe moving out _wouldn’t_ be such a bad idea.

“Thank you mama,” David says, and turns to meet her eyes. She looks a little worried and it’s gratifying to know this isn’t as easy for her as she was making it seem. “I understand,” he says gently and puts his arms around her and hugs her carefully. She hugs back, tight and warm and his _mother_ , loving and supportive and strong.

When she finally lets go (with a last little squeeze that makes him cough a little, gasping for breath) her eyes are little watery and she touches the back of her hands to them to dab at her make up. Then she smiles in a wobbly way and starts for his door, turning at the last minute and leaning against the doorframe to stare at him.

“You’ll call me when you land?” She asks.

“Of course,” David says, zipping up his suitcase. The cab for the airport would be there soon. “And if I find a place I like.” He fiddles with the handle on his suitcase nervously as he brushes past her towards the front of the house to wait, but she grabs him and kisses his cheek fondly. It’ll be okay, he knows.

On the plane towards LA he thinks about the changes he’ll have to make – and realizes with some surprise that the only thing that would _really_ change would be his address. And wasn’t this what he wanted? To be treated less like a kid and more like an adult? It’s why he started to take control of his career a little more, why he started to write songs by himself, try and figure out who he _really_ is. Because he is growing up, and that means taking more responsibility for himself, even though it feels like he’s been thrust into the real world since the moment he got in front of those three judges, nervous and unsure, and took a chance on something he never thought would really happen. It’s like a weird game of catch-up now, since when he’d been a teenager instead of going to dances and moaning about physics tests, he was stressing about song arrangements and photoshoots, doing things that required a lot more maturity (interviews, singing on stage, in front of a camera for _millions_ of people) than most kids his age – but they did things in the right order, applied to college, walked at graduation, went on date nights and group outings and detached themselves from their parents the _right_ way. And he – he didn’t get that experience of ‘leaving the nest’ even though he’d been to _Singapore_ doing press by himself while his parents stayed at home.

It isn’t about the distance. It isn’t about how long he’s gone, or how many ‘adult’ things he does now. It’s about having a place to call home, _going_ home, and now his mother is telling him he needs to find a new home. (Or, well, not exactly. Home will _always_ be where his mama is, but branching out is - _supposed to be_ \- normal. Natural. He doesn’t know why this is tripping him up so much.

It wouldn’t hurt to look at places to stay in LA, he thinks to himself carefully. The only problem is that he has no idea where to start. Or how to even – or what to look _for_. He knows there are a lot of factors that go into finding the right place, especially when it will be his first time living relatively alone (he’s not sure if he wants roommates or not; on one hand, he wouldn’t want to be alone, on the other – roommates! Not his family! So awkward) and he doesn’t know what to _do_.

He’s going to need some help. And that’s why the second person he calls when he lands in Los Angelos (after his mother, of course) is David Cook.

\--

“She kicked you out? Wow,” David Cook grins at him, taking another bite of his beet salad. He has his dark, um, ‘paparazzi proof’ sunglasses on, the ones that David always secretly thought made Cook look like a huge jerk (but he wasn’t going to tell Cook that), blocking the bright California sun. He should have worn sun block too, David observes, noticing how the back of Cook’s neck is pinking up already.

“I wouldn’t have thought Lupe Archuleta had it in her,” Cook continues, and then pauses, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Actually… she’s pretty fierce, your mom. I guess I’m just shocked anyone could possibly throw _you_ out,” Cook teases, smirking at David’s scrunched up face.

“Those sunglasses make you look like a tool,” Andrew comments casually around a mouthful of fries, and David never really knew how to act around Cook’s little brother because, well, sometimes it felt like Andrew really didn’t like him? But then sometimes he was really nice – and it’s kind of confusing, so David mostly just tries to stay quiet and not say anything too stupid that Andrew could make fun of him for. “Aren’t you excited, dude? I was stoked when I finally got to leave my ‘rents behind.”

Cook snorts. “Yeah, so you could come mooch off of me and my friends. And you’re still doing it!” He points out and Andrew pouts kind of outrageously, in a way that makes him look about five years old (which, David admits privately, is about Andrew’s maturity level most of the time).

“Hey, I pay rent!” Andrew protests.

“You pay fifty dollars a month for utilities!” Cook shoots back, and David shifts in his chair, feeling uncomfortable. He’s really more used to being with Cook _alone_ , or like, in a group of their Idol friends. He’s met Cook’s band, obviously, and they’re really nice guys and really understanding whenever David was in town and Cook had to like, cancel going out with them so he could watch a movie with David or whatever. And every now and then they’ll all hang out together, but David is usually mute during the entire time, unsure of what’s right or wrong to say. He’s never been that great in group settings anyway.

“Archie?” Cook cocks his head at him – he and Andrew had apparently stopped bickering while David was lost in his thoughts. “You okay? I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

David shrugs a little, toying with the straw in his iced tea. “I just don’t really know – how,” he answers lamely, not looking up. “I was hoping you could, I don’t know, go looking for places with me or something.”

Cook’s face goes sort of red for some incomprehensible reason, and Andrew starts to choke on a French fry, turning around in his seat to cough loudly and hiccup (though it sort of sounded like giggling to David).

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea…” Cook starts to say, and David can feel the confusion and hurt manifest on his face, and Cook must have seen it because he cut himself off. “You know what? Fuck it. Yeah, I’ll go house hunting with you, Arch.”

Andrew mumbles something (‘life partners’? what?) under his breath and Cook shoots him a dark look, but David already feels better, and he smiles at them both.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, trying to grab for the check when it comes to their table, but Cook is too fast, snagging it and reaching for his wallet before David can even protest.

“You know, you could always just stay with me,” Cook suggests casually, raising an eyebrow speculatively. “We have a guest bedroom – or I could always kick Andrew out, and you could move in permanently. I bet you’re a way better roommate than he is.”

“Hey! Fuck you! I feed your damn dog for you, and do the stupid dishes _and_ take your dumb clothes to the dry cleaners. Can I get a _little_ respect here?” Andrew says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He is essentially my personal assistant,” Cook tells David, leaning over the table a little and smiling playfully. “Just not as obedient, and not nearly respectful enough.”

“This is abuse,” Andrew grumbles darkly.

“I’m telling you, I’ll kick him out for you,” Cook says earnestly, ignoring Andrew.

“Right,” David replies, warily. “Um, I’ll think about it,” he says to Cook’s offer. He doesn’t thinking living with Cook would be, um, healthy for their friendship. Maybe if it was just them, just the two of them in a place together it would be okay, but not Neal and Andrew too, and not all of the things that went along with living with them. (Like never _really_ knowing what to say around them, and feeling like he’s always accidentally invading their space whenever he’s within ten feet of either of them, and just – it wouldn’t work.)

“So if you’re seriously going to do this you should probably call a realtor and mortgage broker and figure out your finances and stuff, huh?” Cook suggests as they all stand up and start to leave. He’s still brushing crouton crumbs from his lap, and nearly bumps into David when David freezes.

“Um,” David says, unsure, “what?”

Cook groans, putting a hand on David’s shoulder and steering him towards the car. Andrew is laughing. “Oh, we have a lot to do.”

\--

It takes six months – way longer than he had expected it to take – to find a place, get his affairs in order, sign a lease, and move in. It’s a small studio apartment, but after the first couple of weeks he finds he actually likes living alone. It gives him space to breathe and time to think, and no one makes fun of him when he tries singing out melodies and they don’t come out quite right. Chores and stuff weren’t _hard_ or anything, but he was used to the stuff back at his mom’s place, and he had to spend an hour on the phone with his dad (instead of the apartment manager, like he should have been) trying to figure out how to use his building’s washing machine, and ordered take out or ate ‘raw’ meals for a month until he finally worked up the courage to try and use his new stove.

It took him about three months to really settle in, but all his friends had visited and congratulated him and tried to give him all this crazy advice about living on his own, but David – David is doing it his way.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s used to it until it’s one lazy Saturday afternoon in the late summer, and he’s sitting on his overstuffed loveseat folding laundry with his laptop open on the coffee table, and a pen and notebook sitting by his side. He’s trading emails with his tour manager about Fall dates, but he’s not really paying attention, humming what could be the bridge of a song and folding his button down shirts by rote, adding to the neat stack that is quickly growing beside him.

When his phone rings, he jumps and nearly topples the tower of clean clothes. Of course, it’s buzzing from his pocket, so he hastily scrambles at his jeans and tugs it out, frowning at the caller ID.

“Cook?” He frowns, because the noise from the other end of the call seems absurdly loud. He briefly wonders if Cook pocket dialed him or something, and clears his throat, asking a little more clearly: “ _Cook?_ ”

“Archie – Archie, hi! Sorry, geez it’s loud here, what’s up! I’m at – aw, hell, what’s it called? – okay, somewhere, for something, my publicist just sort of threw clothes at me and put me in a car and shoved me in front of these cameras.” Cook laughs, and David can hear people cheering. He _thinks_ Cook is just kidding about not knowing what the event is, but David almost wants to open his web browser to google what sort of charity or movie or music thing could be going on at three o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday.

“What are you doing right now?” Cook asks, and it takes David a minute to even register the answer, lulled by the sound of happy crowd noises on Cook’s end.

“Oh I’m –“ he pauses, looks around himself, and then has to laugh. It’s, it’s ridiculous, what he’s doing. It’s so _domestic_. “I’m sitting on my couch, folding laundry and working on a song.” He laughs again, unable to help it. This is his _life_. It’s comfortable, and he grins, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“Exciting weekend, Archuleta,” Cook deadpans.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon!” He protests, crossing his legs at the ankles.

“What-ever,” Cook says in an exaggerated valley-girl voice, and it makes David laugh all over again, and he can practically hear Cook’s ear-to-ear grin through the phone. “There’s going to be another thing, like an after-thing-thing-“

“Like a party?” David interrupts warily, because Cook has dragged to parties before and – no, no, really not his scene.

“Not – really? More like a ‘see, be seen’ type of thing where you brush arms with other awesome people and maybe have a drink or two but I swear, it’s not a bar, it’s not a club, it’s just a – thing. And you should totally come with me because if you don’t you’ll just be stuck at home organizing your closet or vacuuming underneath your couch, or whatever people do when they don’t have a little brother to do all of those things for them.”

David sighs. “Cook…”

“It’ll be fun! And if it’s lame, we can ditch it, and just – whatever, I’ll go back to yours and you can show me that song you’re working on.” There are more crowd noises from the background, and David is quiet for a minute, just listening to Cook’s intake of breath amongst the cheering. “Please Arch?”

“Yeah okay,” he finally relents, figuring, yeah, he could just go home if he wasn’t happy or whatever. “But only if you promise you won’t make me talk to too many crazy girls!” He warns, because the last time he’d been out with Cook, Cook had totally introduced him all ‘Hey, have you met David Archuleta?’ but all _implying_ stuff with his voice and David didn’t – it was so uncomfortable, and all he wanted to do was cling to Cook and never have to answer questions like ‘Is your skin really as soft as it looks?’ because seriously, ew.

Cook laughs, and it’s the one that seems to take him by surprise, David can tell by the pitch in his voice and the way his voice gets far away from a second, like he threw his head back and away from the phone without meaning to. It’s nice, David thinks, to know someone well enough to be able to picture their face and their reactions without having to be there.

“Okay,” Cook says fondly, “I promise. I’ll stick to you like glue, Archuleta, and you won’t be able to regret it, and you’ll miss those crazy girls by the end of the night, mark my words.”

 _Not likely_ , David thinks to himself because he’s come to realize he prefers Cook’s company to pretty much anyone else’s.

“Alright – I’ll call you back after this shindig wraps up. Wear something nice!” Cook singsongs, and then hangs up without so much as a ‘see you later!’

David just shakes his head a little and leans forward to shut his laptop off. He needs to start getting ready now, so he can get all his pre-‘oh my gosh I’m going to be in public and there will people there who will probably think I’m _weird_ ’ anxiety jitters out of the way so he can at least be _semi_ -normal by the time Cook swings by. He glances around his apartment a little and then gathers his neatly folded clean clothes up in his arms – he might as well put them away.

\--

It is _totally_ a party. Apparently the ‘thing’ Cook had been at that afternoon was a _movie premiere_ , and now David is at the after-party with Cook and it’s so much bigger and more intimidating than he’d been expecting. And it’s not like David has never been to a launch-party or an after-awards show or anything, but he didn’t usually stay very long, and he wasn’t usually _tricked_ into going.

And Cook is drinking. Not like, a lot, but enough that his laugh is loud and loose and his arm stays draped over David’s shoulders a lot more than usual (and ‘the usual’ is _already_ kind of a lot). He keeps his word though, and doesn’t shove David in the direction of any young starlets though, just smiles genially at them and says a polite thing or two.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Cook huffs into his ear a few hours into the party. David had been ready to leave after fifteen minutes, but Cook had whined and pleaded and, well, David had a hard time saying no to anyone, particularly saying no to David Cook.

David can smell something sweet and sharp on Cook’s breath, but he doesn’t mention it, just inclines his head a little and tries to look at Cook from the corner of his eye. All he can see is a tuft of Cook’s reddish hair, and a pink blur that might be his ear, or maybe his cheek.

“Really? I’m surprised you didn’t want to bring Neal or Andrew or something…” He replies awkwardly, because there are seriously _movie stars_ here, and he can tell they don’t really know who he is, even if they sort of recognize Cook. At least if Cook had brought Neal, Neal would have been all cool and interesting, and if Cook had brought Andrew, Andrew would be all funny and dorky, but in an endearing, brotherly way. David is just – out of place, even though he fits snugly under Cook’s arm.

“No I mean –“ and Cook laughs, a little, “I mean I’m glad you’re here, in LA. S’lot easier to hang out with you when I know you’re only a car ride away – when we’re both in town, that is.”

David stiffens a little as Cook sighs, because he’s kind of doing a nuzzling thing, and David is pretty sure Cook has had maybe one too many tonight, and it might be time to go home.

“Alright, time to go,” he says, and calls the limo guy, and has them drop them both off at David’s place. Cook has gotten heavier, and heavier, and David is pretty much supporting him in the elevator up to his floor, and he panics a little, hoping Cook doesn’t like, pass out while David is trying to get him onto the couch, because the last the he needs is someone to see him dragging an unconscious David Cook into his studio apartment.

Once he gets Cook horizontal on the couch, he pretty much falls asleep instantly, throwing his arm across his face and snuffling into it. David smiles at grabs a blanket from his little portable linen closet that his mom had bought him, and spreads it across Cook’s supine body. Then he pauses for a minute, just watching Cook sleep. He and Cook had always been close, but since the move Cook had drawn even _closer_ , like he was legitimately thrilled that David was more easily accessible now. And it’s nice to be able to do this, to have Cook crash at his house if they wanted, instead of having to say goodbye early because his management was expecting him back at the hotel by eleven or whatever.

He cards his fingers through Cook’s hair fondly, messing it up just a little more.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” he says to the sleeping man, and then reaches up to turn off a lamp. “Goodnight Cook,” he murmurs, and falls into his own bed, asleep before his head even touches the pillow.


End file.
